Titles
by JamesLuver
Summary: John and Anna have an important discussion in the months before their baby's birth.


**A/N:** Happy Father's Day!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _Downton Abbey_.

* * *

 _Titles_

The warmth of summer melted into a fresh autumn, and although the colder weather did no good to his right knee, John was glad of it. The summer's heat had been oppressive, and made tempers quick to ignite. Mr. Carson had had to play referee to several slanging matches between the younger men who still worked at Downton, and no one had dared to go near the kitchen most days in fear of inciting Mrs. Patmore's wrath. She was so red in the face most days, clashing in an almost comical fashion with her orange hair, that she looked like some kind of tomato.

Even Anna, sweet tempered as she always was, had been prone to some fierce bursts of temper completely out of character for her. She had often been red and sweaty, the black of her uniform doing nothing to keep her cool. And he supposed that being pregnant hadn't helped matters. She had spent many summer nights twisting and turning, disturbing his own fitful slumber with her sighs and sharp elbows to the back. On those occasions, it had been _his_ fault that she was too hot, and had received an earful about how it should be illegal for him to retain such body heat. And yet when he had offered to sleep in the spare bedroom, she had complained that she couldn't sleep without him beside her. It was a no-win situation to be found in. He had almost been grateful for the trip to Brancaster.

Almost. Not quite. He loved her and missed her too much, pecking and all. Besides, he supposed it wasn't really her fault. She was pregnant, after all. Her hormones were all over the place, and it had not been helped by the hot weather. Now that the cooler days were coming, things would hopefully settle down a little.

Everyone at the big house knew about the change in their circumstances, of course. With Anna's slight form, it had become entirely impossible to hide the way that she was thickening up, and they had been showered with ecstatic well-wishes from every corner, though Mr. Carson looked most uncomfortable at having a pregnant lady's maid wandering round the house unchecked. John supposed that he'd rather she was locked away out of sight, like women in centuries past.

If he was honest with himself, he would rather that she restrict her duties a little now that she was almost eight months pregnant, but Anna seemed determined to carry on at full speed. He knew that she hated being idle, and was rather moody with it, but he didn't like to see her still clambering up and down all those stairs in the condition she was in. Their baby seemed to have ballooned out of nowhere, her stomach huge now, and he had woken on many occasions dripping in sweat, after seeing her fall down flight after flight of stairs in his dreams.

It was a subject that he'd have to broach with her soon, but for now he was enjoying the peace that had fallen between them once more. They found little moments in the day to enjoy quietly together, whether it was just a cup of tea in the servants' hall or a chaste kiss hidden in the alcove, or a moment where he could press his hand to her stomach and feel their baby wriggling about beneath his touch.

Today was no exception. They had enjoyed a leisurely stroll to work in the fresh, breezy morning, and had parted after their breakfast. John had been busy in the attics all morning, and he didn't have the chance to see her again until luncheon. She was waiting for him at the table, and shot him a secret smile, which he returned. He loved how much she was glowing these days, how undeniable her happiness was. There were still anxieties, of course, from both of them for what they had already had and lost—neither of them could bear the thought of anything happening to the perfect little life that they had created together—but bit by bit Anna had relaxed into the pregnancy and all the joys that came with it, and that in turn had allowed him to relax as well. Everyone always commented on how well she looked, and John agreed with them. She had taken to pregnancy like a duck to water, and he couldn't wait to meet their child properly and begin this next exciting step on their journey together.

They ate side by side, John dropping his hand to her knee as many times as he could simply to feel the warmth of her skin. Anna kept shooting him affectionate looks that let him know that she thought he was a silly, soppy beggar, but he didn't care. When it came to her, he _was_. Besides, the way that her hand kept finding his on her knee belittled any teasing on her behalf, because it meant that she was just as bad as he was. They were fools in love together.

The afternoon was also a busy one, and it wasn't until tea time that he next had an opportunity to see her. Tea was always a more relaxed affair, with many of the servants in higher spirits, and John wasted no time in taking advantage of the situation. He settled himself down in his seat and reached out for Anna's hand, twining their fingers together on the table top, not caring who might be looking their way. It hardly mattered any more. Anna's round belly rather gave away the fact that they were doing much more than an innocent bit of hand holding in the privacy of their own home.

"Hello, my darling," he said softly.

"Hello," she responded brightly, squeezing him. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

"Let me do it," he said at once.

She tutted. "I'm not an invalid, Mr. Bates. I am quite capable of fixing us some tea."

"I never said you weren't. But isn't a proud husband allowed to dote on his pregnant wife?"

"You dote on me all the time anyway," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Is that something that does not please you? Would you prefer it if I was distant and aloof?"

"Of course not," she said, giggling. "I very much like being able to take advantage of your doting."

"There you have it, then. So be quiet."

"Make me."

If they had been somewhere less open than the servants' hall table, he would have done exactly that by catching her mouth under his own. He settled instead for moving his thumb over her knuckles. Evidently pleased with her victory, Anna settled back in her seat and he reluctantly untangled their hands so that he could prepare their tea. He handed it over to her and she accepted it with a contented sigh, taking a long sip.

"How is it?" he asked.

"Like heaven. I have to admit, you do take very good care of me. I am one very lucky pregnant lady. Most men are complaining about their fat wives and the loss of their freedom by this point."

"Well, we men have never been known for our sense," John said brightly, sending her into raptures once more. It made his heart swell. It was so, so nice for that sound to be a regular occurrence once more.

"I love you, you know," she murmured below the buzz of conversation from the other servants, low enough that only he would hear her. "I really couldn't have dreamed of a better man. Baby Bates and I are very lucky indeed."

What he really wanted to do was well up a little and tell her that he was the luckiest man alive to have someone like her, but this were hardly the most appropriate of circumstances, so he settled for saying nothing. He hoped that she could at least sense the wave of emotion rising up inside him, and how much it meant to him to hear her say those words. The look she gave him indicated that perhaps she did.

"Which reminds me," she said. "There's a conversation we need to have."

"About?"

"About the baby, of course."

His heart began to pick up speed a little. "Oh?"

"Yes. But now is not the appropriate time. Let's go back to the cottage early tonight if we can and we'll discuss it there. Lady Mary said that the family want to retire early tonight."

"All right," he heard himself say. "That sounds like a plan."

Before he could hope to probe some more, Anna was pulled into conversation with Miss Baxter and Mr. Molesley, and John sat back to sip at his tea broodingly. His good mood of a few moments before had evaporated slightly. What did they need to talk about? Was there something that Anna was worried about? He liked to think that she would have told him if that was the case, but it didn't mean she would have. She had been much sunnier with the pregnancy as of late, but had he been too complacent? Had something gone wrong?

He fretted for the rest of the day, with no opportunity to question Anna further. Mr. Carson raised those impressive eyebrows at him twice in disapproval, and when he was dressing him for dinner, his lordship had clapped him merrily on the shoulders and declared that he was being unusually unsteady. John tried to smile, though his face muscles did not seem to want to cooperate.

"Is there something wrong?" his lordship asked him as he slipped into his jacket.

John decided on a half-truth. "I'm thinking about Anna, milord."

"Ah, say no more," his lordship said sagely. "We men must bear the burdens of worry when our wives are pregnant."

John rather thought that their women had the bigger burdens to bear during that time, but he couldn't help but feel rather useless. He was used to being a man of action, even if those actions were sometimes futile, and he hated feeling that his part was done now that Anna was pregnant. If he could share the burden with her, he would do so in a heartbeat.

"I'm sure it's nothing to concern yourself with," his lordship added.

John inclined his head, but said nothing. He wouldn't be certain of that until they had their conversation.

Dinner passed frustratingly slowly. Outwardly, Anna seemed fine, chatting happily to those around them. But John knew that looks could be deceiving, and it did nothing to assuage the little seeds of worry that had been planted in his mind. He willed time on faster, desperate to have her alone.

At last, the bells rang for their respective employers. John hurried away as quickly as possible, determined to dress his lordship for bed as quickly as possible so that he could get home. God, he hoped that Lady Mary wasn't going to be long tonight. If she was dawdling too much, he might have to march upstairs and physically pull his wife along with him. He knew that the two women's respect for each other ran very deeply, but at this moment, he felt so anxious and edgy, he didn't care.

Thankfully, his fretting was for naught. Anna was already waiting for him, clad in her coat and gloves. She had his heavy overcoat in her arms, his bowler hat balanced on top. He squashed it onto his head at once, and she helped him into his coat, fastening the buttons and smoothing him down as if she was his own personal valet.

"There we are," she said, flattening his lapels. "Perfect."

"It is now," he said and, seeing that they were completely alone, he leant in to steal a brief, chaste kiss from her mouth. The fact that she was beaming at him settled him just slightly. "Shall we go?"

She nodded, pinning her hat quickly and taking hold of his hand. They popped their heads in on Mrs. Hughes as they passed her room, finding her having a cosy sherry with Mr. Carson. The butler stared at their joined hands, but thankfully said nothing. John liked and respected the man very much, but over the last few months, since their announcement of the pregnancy, he had the distinct feeling that Mr. Carson deviated from wanting to sit him down for an uncomfortable chat about his intentions, and pretending that the baby wasn't there. He had already endured the former once before, when people had started to guess that something had developed between him and Anna, and the latter was a baffling experience that left him feeling awkward around his superior. Anna, on the other hand, found the whole thing highly amusing.

"You know what Mr. Carson is like," she was fond of saying. "He's probably comforted himself all these years that we're doing nothing more than holding hands, and now there's undeniable evidence that we're _not_ , and he doesn't know what to do with the information."

"Well, he should," John grumbled. "Honestly, I don't know whether I should run or apologise when he comes near…"

They made their way outside into the cold night air, Anna swinging their joined hands between them. The silence between them was companiable, though John could feel the gnawing of his anxieties itching beneath his skin. Anna seemed oblivious, occasionally making a comment about the events of her day. He was relieved when the row of cottages came into sight. He loosened his grip on her hand so he could fish the key out of his inside pocket. He keyed them in and they shed their outer layers.

"You get the fire going," Anna told him. "I'll make us a cup of tea."

"All right," he agreed. It was a rather chilly evening, and he didn't want Anna on her hands and knees doing it herself. He scraped the coal together and got it kindling, stoking it until it was crackling merrily in the hearth. He sighed as the warmth washed over him, settling himself down in his favourite armchair while he waited for Anna to join him.

She wasn't too long. Five minutes later, she appeared with a cup of tea in each hand, passing his over to him and settling herself down over his lap, a pleasant surprise. He huffed, bringing her further onto his good leg, wrapping his spare arm around her waist and bringing her further up to him.

"Hello," he said, moving to press a kiss to her cheek.

She giggled, wriggling in pleasure. "Hello, Mr. Bates"

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes. John took a few cursory sips of his tea without even tasting it, then sighed as he shifted enough to place the cup on the floor beside his feet. Anna raised an eyebrow at him.

"What is it?" she asked. "Do you not fancy it?"

"No, it's not that," he said. "It's just…can we stop skirting the issue? You wanted to talk about something when we got home. Well, we're home. And I think I'll burst of impatience if you don't tell me what it is. It's been driving me mad all day."

"I'm sorry," Anna said at once.

He shook his head. "You never need to apologise to me. I just want to be privy to your thoughts, that's all."

She nodded, setting aside her own cup. She couldn't quite look him in the eye as she began to unfasten his collar for him. "Well, I know you've been wanting to discuss baby names for a while…"

"But I would never want to push you into it if you're not ready," he said quickly. Anna had told him that she did not want to pick out any names, boy or girl, for fear of making it too real, of tempting fate. If the baby had a name and anything happened to it in the last few months…it was something unbearable to think about. He knew that Anna wouldn't survive it.

He wasn't a praying man, but he prayed that their baby would keep fighting, as it already had done to stay in the world.

Anna ran her palms over his chest now.

"I know," she said soothingly. "And I love you for it. But I think there's one thing we can discuss."

"What's that, then?"

She ducked her head shyly. "What the baby should call us when it's older."

John's heart nigh on imploded in his chest. What the baby would call them. Even now, it was so hard to believe that one day they would have a tiny person toddling about after them and needing them. Frightening. Exhilarating. He had given so much thought to _not_ thinking about names for their child that it had slipped his mind that they would have to have names, too.

Anna was still looking at him, a sweet uncertainness in her gaze. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a wonderful idea," he murmured, bringing her forward for a kiss. She lingered against him, cupping his cheek with her palm. When she pulled away, she was smiling. He leaned back in his chair, snugging her even closer.

"So, he said contentedly, "any ideas?"

She shrugged. "I thought we might try a few out and see what we like."

"I called my parents Mother and Father," said John. "But I think that seems a bit stiff and formal in this day and age."

"Mother makes me sound old," Anna pouted.

He snorted, though not without a prick of disconcertion. "Then perhaps I _ought_ to go with Father." Even now, as happy as he was, he wished that he could be younger. Life had chosen to throw this miracle at them late, but he did not rest entirely easily. He had already had several nightmares where his child turned away from him because he was too old and could ever make them happy the way that they needed to be; he was terrified of embarrassing them, of ruining their lives. Anna, while listening with a sympathetic ear, always said that he was being silly, that he would be the most wonderful father. He was desperate to believe her, but the fears lingered all the same.

Now, Anna prodded him in the chest.

"You are not old," she scolded.

"Older than most," John pointed out. "Lord Grantham's daughters are grown women now. I've not even had my fist."

"What does age matter?" she said impatiently. "You will teach our child love and respect and honour and gentleness. You will give them attention. What's more important than that?"

"Nothing," he conceded. The argument was not over, but perhaps he could leave it for another day. They deserved to think on happier times, to live in this moment without fear surrounding them.

"There you have it, then," said Anna matter-of-factly.

"What did you call your parents?" he said in an effort to steer the conversation away from him.

She rolled her eyes. "You know the answer that that very well. Mum and Dad. Although sometimes, when I was really little, I would slip up and call my mum 'Mam'. It's a Yorkshire thing. But then I thought I sounded Yorkshire enough without adding to that. 'Mum' sounded more professional."

"And you decided that as a child?" he teased her.

"Not as a small child," she answered, and he picked up on her inferred meaning. She'd decided after. After she'd been sent away to work, as if she was a liability and not a victim of a disgusting system. His throat closed over. Christ, did he never _think_?

Before he could start berating himself too harshly, however, Anna ran her finger down his cheek. He came back to her, saw that there was no fear of hurt in her eyes. If she was not going to dwell on it, then neither would he. He would not do that to her.

"Mam is quite common in Ireland," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps that might be nice. A homage to where they've come from. They'll have the Yorkshire wilds and the Irish countryside running through their veins."

Anna rolled her eyes, probably at his overly poetic wording. "That does sound rather nice. Though I'm not sure what the family would think. It might sound terribly common to them."

"Does it matter?" he countered. He couldn't see how it was anyone's business but their own.

"And what about if we choose to leave Downton?" she continued. "What would our guests think?"

"It wouldn't be their business to think anything," said John.

Anna muttered something that sounded very much like, "Men," before continuing. "But we know more than most that presentation is key. We don't want people turning their noses up at us."

"So what are you suggesting? Something like Mama and Papa?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't mind it," he said. It did sound rather nice together. Mama and Papa. He could almost see himself as that. But did he really see Anna as a mama, or something else? Mama always brought the aristocracy to mind, children ironed and starched and sent along to the nursery. It did not bring to mind the kind of relaxed family scene that he imagined for them: a laughing, happy child, sweaty and soil-stained from playing out in the garden, a happy exasperated Anna showering their baby with love and affection while they squealed in her arms.

"And then there's something like ma and pa," Anna said thoughtfully.

John shuddered. "God, no."

"You don't like it?"

"No. I don't think it's really us."

"My friend called her dad 'Da'."

"That's even worse."

Anna giggled. "You aren't half picky, are you?"

"Well, I think this is a subject that we need to be picky about," he said, pressing his mouth to her neck and speaking against her skin. "This is going to shape the rest of our lives. And I don't want to end up like Lord Grantham with 'Donk'."

"He likes that really," said Anna. "It's sweet. And don't be grumpy. You know very well that you'd love it any way, no matter what our baby called you because it would be _your_ baby."

She had him there. All he wanted was a happy child. None of the rest of it mattered.

"Well?" he prompted. "Do you have a preference in all of this?"

Anna chewed her lip as she thought, as was customary. Finally, she said, "Do you think we should just stick to what we know?"

"Mum and Dad?"

She nodded. "It sounds nice, doesn't it?"

"It does," he said, catching her hand within his own. "And perhaps we can be Mummy and Daddy until the child is older."

Her eyes shone. "Mummy and Daddy. It's perfect."

And it was. He could imagine that vividly. A little golden haired girl or boy, cuddling up to Anna, calling her mummy. And—his heart contracted—them looking up at him and calling him Daddy.

"So we're in agreement," she said.

"We certainly are."

It was one less thing to sort before the baby's birth. One more thing to look forward to. Mummy and Daddy. Mum and Dad. Christ…it made it so realistic. And Anna's beaming face said more than he could ever hope to articulate.

"Let's go to bed, Mummy," he whispered, pulling her closer to him.

"All right," she said, her eyes shining. "I _am_ rather tired."

"Head on up," he said. "I'll see to everything down here."

"Are you sure?"

"Certain. I won't be long."

She kissed him once more, and he let her slide off his knee, listening to her path up the stairs. He heaved himself to his feet, gathered their tea things together, and washed them up. He scuffed out the fire, checked the curtains, double-checked the locked door, and headed up himself. Anna was just getting into bed when he entered, and she watched him change for bed. He popped through to the bathroom, washed himself up, and finally slid into bed beside her. Anna pushed herself up against him and he slid his arm around her, his hand coming up to rest on her stomach. She would likely push him away in the early hours, too hot to have him wrapped around her, but for now they were content. Always so very, very happy.

"Goodnight, Daddy," she whispered.

He pressed his smile into her neck. "Goodnight, Mummy."

He drifted to the sounds of her breathing, unable to wait for the next chapter in their lives.


End file.
